The Aftermath of Destiny
by Wildmagic-Warrior
Summary: Loki Laufeyson, having fallen from the edge of Asgard, wakes up on Earth in the apartment of one Miss Darcy Lewis. S.H.I.E.L.D. soon collects the wayward prince as a prisoner, and it's going to take a college student and some very strange magic to get him out again. Rated "T" for language. This will have several chapters. Please review.
1. Prologue

He didn't know which way he was falling any more.

Time had given up meaning as well.

It could have been seconds minutes days hours years but he didn't know.

It could have been forever.

An eternity of darkness light black white colors fading into a rainbow to infinity.

Perhaps he was dead.

Or maybe he was dreaming.

_Past present future all mixed together, like a snake devouring its own tail. _

_North south east west the winds of fortune had always blown in his favor but no longer._

_Why?_

_Did it matter?_

_Lying crying dying, a full circle, and always_

_falling _

_falling _

_falling._

He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by a fog so thick he could have cut it with a knife. After a few moments he became aware of a whistling in his ears; when several more had passed, he realized that it was the wind. He looked down, or was it up? But the mist obscured his feet and he couldn't tell if he was standing on solid ground.

With a suddenness that made him blink, the fog vanished. He found that he could see a huge landscape spread out before him, or beneath him as the case may have been.

With mild surprise, he noted that it was rapidly drawing closer.

He had a slight sense of déjà vu, as though he had been here before, but the when and why escaped him.

He watched, fascinated, as the ground raced towards him, wondering idly if it wasn't the other way around and _he_ was falling towards _it._

With that thought, everything snapped into terrifyingly clear focus.

If he hit the ground at the speed he was going, he would break every last bone in his body. He would have to divert the force elsewhere- calculating quickly in his head, he realized that putting all of it in one place would have roughly the same effect as dropping a small bomb.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes… and teleported.

In the middle of New Mexico, a huge explosion shook the ground. Rocks and clumps of dirt were thrown into the air as it opened an enormous crater in the arid landscape.

Twenty-five miles away, in a small town that had recently become the headquarters of a secret organization, alarm bells were ringing. After the Asgard fiasco, the agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D. had become particularly attentive to anything odd that happened in the desert nearby.

When a group of agents arrived at the crater roughly twenty minutes later, they found it inexplicably empty.

"Mr. Fury, sir?" said one of them into a cell phone, "Here's something you'll want to see for yourself."


	2. An Unexpected Guest

"I don't believe this."

Propping her hands on her hips, Darcy Lewis glowered at the scene before her. In the three months since Thor returned to Asgard, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had descended on her previously peaceful workplace. The lab space that Jane had set aside for her was filled almost constantly with _people._ Now, Darcy was no rocket scientist, but even _she_ could tell that she was slowly being put farther and farther away from anything interesting that might happen. Just that morning she had been sent to get _coffee, _like some stupid little gofer intern who didn't know a light switch from her own left foot.

"Hey!" Darcy cried, seeing one of the agents start to open the drawers of her desk. "Cut that out!" Elbowing her way through the crowd, she slammed the drawers shut and pushed the man away from them. "Don't touch my stuff!"

The man scowled at her and said, "Then pack it up yourself." He shoved a cardboard box into her arms and stalked away. Darcy glared after him, and then slammed the box onto her desk. She had to know what was going on here; nobody had ever told her to move her belongings before. Was she being… fired? Surely not. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the student decided that she was going to find her boss right now and ask her about it.

When she finally located Jane, the astrophysicist was staring intently at a computer screen. One half showed the video she had taken of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, or the "Bifrost" as Thor had called it. The other half was scrolling through data.

"Jane," said Darcy, quietly. When the woman didn't respond, the political science student reached out and touched her shoulder.

The astrophysicist made a sound like "Wassagerroffame!" and jerked around. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed… jittery. Like the only thing keeping her awake was a dangerously large amount of caffeine in her bloodstream. "Oh," she said after a few moments, focusing on her friend's face. "Hey. Sorry. What's up?"

In a rare moment of selflessness, Darcy decided to keep quiet about her problem. "I just came to see if you needed anything," she lied with a smile. "And you do. Sleep. _Now. _All that coffee is going to give you a heart attack or something. Go take a nap." Jane was beginning to protest when the alarms started screaming.

For a few moments there was a rush of organized chaos as a squad of agents were dispatched to the site of a meteor crash about twenty-five miles away. Darcy plunked herself into a chair and watched the commotion, only mildly interested by it. This sort of thing happened pretty regularly around here. When the sirens stopped blaring and she could hear herself think, she turned once again to Jane. The woman looked like she could drop dead at any second, either from stress, lack of sleep, or caffeine overdose. Darcy sighed and stood up, taking her friend by the arm.

"Come on," she said, hauling the astrophysicist to her feet. "I'll get somebody to set you up with a cot so that you'll be nearby if they find anything. Okay?" Jane nodded slowly, but Darcy suspected that she would agree to just about anything right now.

The student was surprised by how easy it was to find her friend a place to sleep. Apparently, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stayed where they had been assigned year round if the situation called for it, so dormitories had been set up for them. Jane was well-liked by just about everyone; it didn't take more than five or ten minutes to find an agent who was willing to give up her cot for a few hours. Once Jane was settled and asleep, Darcy went back to the astrophysicist's lab station to see if the data from the crash site had come in yet.

"Miss Foster?" Darcy looked up from her IPod to see the leader of S.H.I.E.L.D. standing in the doorway. He was tall, black, wore an eye patch, and had a ridiculous last name that she could never quite remember. Rage? No, Fury. Nick Fury.

"Not here," she replied, pulling out an earbud so that she could hear better. "Sleeping." The man nodded and turned to leave, then paused.

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear, saying "Yes?" There was a long silence, and then "I'll be right there."

Darcy stood up, immediately attentive, and asked "Can I come?"

Fury tucked his phone back into his pocket. "No."

Darcy slumped slightly, pouting. "Why not? I'm a scientist."

"_Political_ science," the man reminded her. "_And_ you're still just a student. Now, Miss Lewis, I suggest you go home. There is nothing here for you to do."

Angry at the obvious dismissal but not brave enough to reply with a smartass remark, Darcy swallowed her pride and just nodded. When the man was a ways down the hall, she put her earbud back in and went to get her purse from her lab station. She gaped in disbelief as, turning a corner, she caught sight of her desk; all of her belongings had been thrown into boxes and stacked haphazardly against the wall.

"We needed the space," said one of the men, at least having the decency to sound apologetic. "But Mr. Fury has given you a spot with the newer agents." He said this with a smile, as if it were good news. Darcy stared at him over the top of her square lenses until he shifted uncomfortably. Then the student rolled her eyes and walked past the man.

"I'll move my things in the morning," she told him, grabbing her purse from where it sat on the desk. "Don't let anyone go through them okay?"

The man frowned slightly, seeming frustrated. "But, Miss Lewis, we need the space-"

With a tired sigh, Darcy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and told him, "Just leave my stuff where it is. Right now I'm going home."

The "home" she spoke of wasn't her _real_ home, of course. It was more like a hotel room she had commandeered after S.H.I.E.L.D. relocated all of Puente Antiguo's residents to a small town about two hundred miles away. After several unexplainable extraterrestrial events had happened nearby, not to mention a giant fire-breathing-robot-_thing_ going on a rampage, they had decided that having civilians around would be a really bad idea. Luckily, Darcy had seen most of what had happened; otherwise, she would have been moved out as well.

With another long-suffering sigh, the woman tried to think about _good_ things, but on a day like today it was a tall order. She took three trips around the hotel's revolving door just to amuse herself, then crossed the air-conditioned lobby and climbed the stairs. Her room was on the top floor, three stories up. There wasn't an elevator, but that was alright. She wouldn't have taken it anyway; she had no desire to go plummeting to her death in one of those things.

Trotting down the hall, she made her way quickly to room 309 and pressed the latch. She had disabled the electric lock after she realized that keycards were like hot boyfriends; you could never hold onto one for long.

Today, though, the door seemed stuck. It was as if something had fallen in front of it on the other side, stopping it from opening. She checked the number on the door- three zero nine, so she definitely had the right room- and then shoved her shoulder against the wood with all her might. Eventually she was able to push the door open wide enough to slip through; doing so, she turned to see what had blocked it.

At first, she thought that it was a pile of rumpled clothing. Then it groaned, and _moved._

"Holy _shit!"_ cried Darcy, fumbling in her purse for her taser.

The figure jerked around and sat up, scrambling awkwardly away until its- _no,_ Darcy realized, _his_- back hit the wall. He looked up at her, chest heaving as he breathed, green eyes wide and terrified. Those eyes flicked to the taser she pointed at him, and then back to her face.

In the space of time it took Darcy to gather the courage to speak, he calmed visibly and even gained enough composure to sit up straight and smooth his long black hair with one hand.

"Alright," said the woman after a while, attempting to sound confident. "Who are you? And- and what were you doing in here?"

As the fear left the man's eyes, they became somehow deeper. Now they studied her, and she knew that he could see her hands trembling.

"Interesting first questions," he said after a long pause. "A traveler. Sleeping."

Darcy frowned at him, more annoyed now than scared. "What?"

The man crossed his legs and settled his elbows on his knees, lacing his long fingers together. "I am a traveler," he repeated, "Albeit an accidental one. And I was sleeping. It was probably closer to unconsciousness, though."

There was something slightly familiar about his accent, clothes, and the way he held himself, but the student couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Then, suddenly, it hit her. Hit her harder than a Mack truck full of bricks. Keeping her eyes on the stranger, Darcy fumbled in her pocket until she located her cell phone. She pulled it out, mashing down on the number for Jane's speed-dial and holding the thing to her ear. The man watched her intently, almost curiously, but didn't move.

"Come _on_," the student growled into the phone as it rang three times, four times. "Just this once, answer your damn phone." Six rings, seven… and then her friend's cheery voice.

"Hey! You've reached Jane Foster! I'm probably suuuuper busy right now, but leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

There was a long beep, and then Darcy said hurriedly "Hey. It's Darcy. Um, I don't want to sound like a total psycho or anything, but I think I've got another one of your Asgard dudes. In my living room. Yeah. So, uh, please please please call back soon or I might have to taze him. Kay. Okay. Alright. Um, bye."

She hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket, and the stranger let out a soft chuckle. Darcy frowned at him, but it only seemed to amuse the man even more.

"There is no need for threats or violence, Midgardian," he said. "I have no interest in harming you; at least, not today."

The student didn't want to believe him, but he sounded so sincere… She sat down without thinking about it, catching herself before she put the taser on the floor. What the hell? She wanted to tell him to get out of her head, but he hadn't actually been in it. All he had done was talk. It was unnerving.

"So," she said, knowing that they were at a stalemate until Jane called back or help arrived. "Do you have a name, or am I gonna have to make one up?"

There was a long silence, so long that she thought he might not answer at all. Then, "You may call me Loki."


	3. Name Game

Darcy hadn't reacted when Loki told her his name, which was strange to him. He was used to being recognized by everyone he met, even if they didn't like or respect him as much as they did his older brother. It would seem that Midgardians were lax about teaching history to their children; however, it could simply be that this woman was particularly dense.

For a long time the two sat facing each other, and the silence drew out like a taut bowstring. Loki kept perfectly still, not wanting to give Darcy an excuse to 'taze' him, whatever that meant.

Instead, he contented himself by watching as she became more and more restless. She fidgeted, plucked at a loose thread on the hem on her shirt, blinked more often than she needed to.

Finally, to Loki's great surprise, she inquired "Aren't you going to ask me _my_ name?"

The Asgardian frowned, puzzled.

"No," he replied. Then, curious, he asked "Why would I?"

The woman muttered something like "Good manners," and Loki laughed. She really was _quite_ thick, wasn't she?

"I already know your name," he informed her. "You said it rather loudly just a few minutes ago, when you were talking on that… device. Darcy, yes?"

For a couple of seconds she just glared at him over the tops of her glasses.

Then, sounding rather miffed, she grumbled "Yeah, well. Whatever."

Scooting forwards, she reached out to him with her right hand. Loki stared at it for a moment, confused.

"You shake it," said Darcy, in a voice that was much too condescending for his taste.

He frowned at her and sniffed disdainfully, not wanting to admit how little he knew of Midgardian customs.

After a while, the woman pulled back her hand. She went on to plant her elbow on her knee and prop her chin on her fist.

"My last name's Lewis," she said. "In case you were wondering."

Loki cocked his head slightly to one side, puzzled once again. Why was she telling him these things? On Asgard, your name told everyone who you were and sometimes even let them known your place in society. They were far too important to give away like this.

"Now tell me _your_ last name," Darcy prompted, still using that superior tone of voice.

Loki doubted- _highly_ doubted- that an exchange of names was part of Midgardian custom, but it would be worth an answer if it got the woman to stop talking. Her voice was beginning to give him a headache.

"Odins-" he began, but even as he said it he could taste the lie.

He tried again. "Laufeys-" but that, too, sounded wrong.

He paused for a moment, and then said quietly "It would seem that I no longer have one."

Darcy rolled her eyes and began to rattle off about "How can you _lose_ your last name? I mean, _seriously-_"

Loki growled angrily and snapped, "Just _shut up,_ will you?" He didn't normally run out of patience so quickly, but this _woman! _There seemed to be no end to her inane prattle.

Darcy fell silent, glaring at him, but the Asgardian couldn't bring himself to care. The nagging headache had turned a frantic tattoo of drumbeats on the inside of his skull; it was deafening and seemingly inescapable. His eyes seemed to shut of their own accord, and he was vaguely aware of hitting the floor as the drumming ceased and unconsciousness washed over him.

_Darkness. But not… normal darkness. It dripped, seeped like cold mist into his bones. It whispered to him, comforting, calling. He remembered… he dreamed…_

Climbing. A familiar staircase.

It led up and up, and kept going long after he knew it should have stopped.

And now he was in the tower.

A large, round room, with twelve stained-glass windows set into the thick walls.

He walked around the edge, admiring the masterful work that had gone into those windows.

They depicted scenes from Asgard's history, chief among them his father's defeat of the jotuns.

He stopped at the only window without stained glass- it was the thirteenth, in the very center- and looked out over his home. Sunlight rippled across his face and he closed his eyes, letting it fill him with a sense of peace and warmth.

Suddenly, everything fell dark and he was hanging over the edge of the world, holding onto his father's hand for all he was worth. This was not how it had happened, he knew that, but it was real in the way that nightmares always are.

Terror welled up in his chest and he cried out- _Father! Help me!_

Odin's remaining eye was half-closed, but in the darkness Loki could not tell what emotion that represented.

Thunder boomed overhead and lightning lit up the sky, showing the anger on the Allfather's face.

Then he spoke two words.

Two awful, heartbreaking words.

_No, Loki._

And then he let go, allowing his son to fall, screaming, into the void of space.

"_Father!"_

Loki's voice rang out in the small room and he sat up frantically, scrambling to remember where he was. It came to him slowly, and he forced himself to quell the panic in the pit of his stomach until both breath and heartbeat were under control.

The drumming in his head had receded, and he felt well enough to study his surroundings. There was a wall in front of him, made completely of white tile. It was hardly as long as he was tall; was this some sort of strange Midgardian prison?

He turned his head to survey the rest of his cell… and found himself face-to-face with the bowl of a toilet. With a gasp of unmitigated horror and disgust Loki threw himself backwards, slamming his head against the wall as he tried desperately to stand up.

When he finally managed to get his legs to work properly, he leaned against the tile and seethed. That _woman!_ She had locked him in a _bathroom_, by all the gods! This was hardly the proper way to treat a noble, especially a prince- no, a king!

Then he caught sight of himself in the smudged mirror and realized his mistake. This was Midgard. He was not royalty here- by Helheim, he wasn't even royalty on Asgard any more.

He stepped closer to his reflection and reached out a hand to it, touching the cool glass with the tips of his fingers. Mussed hair, stubble on his chin, and dark shadows under both eyes; why, he looked ten years older than he was.

With a grimace, Loki started going through the cabinet to the left of the empty sink. He found several strange items that looked like torture devices, and set them aside with high distaste. Midgardian technology was so… _crude. _Finally he found a hairbrush and a razor, and stopped for a moment to wonder if he should be going through the woman's things. Then he recalled that she had locked him in a bathroom, and decided that he didn't care in the slightest.

He shaved first, being careful not to nick himself with the dull blade, and then he meticulously brushed out his hair. When his reflection was once again familiar, Loki pulled himself up to his full height and tried to look as regal as possible.

A muffled pounding and shouting shattered his thin façade.

Turning, Loki crossed his makeshift cell in half a step and pressed his ear against the door.

"Thank god you're here." That was the woman, Darcy. There were a few quiet words, lost amid the sound of a large group of people all trying to squeeze through the same doorway at the same time.

"Unconscious, so I put him in the bathroom." There were more footsteps, and then came a loud scraping noise right next to his ear. Something heavy was being dragged away from the other side of the door. Stepping back, Loki smoothed his hair and took one last look in the mirror.

Then the bathroom door swung inwards, revealing his captor, another woman who looked somehow familiar, and a man with skin that was darker than Heimdall's.

Darcy looked immensely pleased with herself, and Loki wondered why. All she had done was lock an unconscious stranger in her bathroom. Granted, she was the first person to do such a thing to him, but that was beside the point and he wasn't about to give her an excuse to look any more smug than she already did. The dark man looked unimpressed, but the other woman was staring intently.

Suddenly, it hit him. He recognized the blonde. She was the one who had hit Thor with her metal monster, the one his brother had fallen in love with. What was- Jane. Her name was Jane.

"He said his name is Loki," supplied Darcy, breaking the silence and obviously trying to be helpful.

Jane's eyes opened even wider, and then she whipped a notebook out of her jacket and fumbled in another pocket for a pen. Upon finding it, she flipped open the black journal and began scribbling furiously in the squiggly hieroglyphs that Midgardians used as a written language. The dark man's eye- he only had one, Loki noticed- narrowed slightly, and his mouth twitched into a frown that could have been either angry or thoughtful. Their reactions confirmed Loki's earlier suspicions- Darcy had no idea what she had stumbled into.

"I have so many questions!" Jane exclaimed. She looked up at him, pen poised expectantly over the paper as she asked, "What is it like, to travel using an Einstein-Rosen Bridge? How did you get here without one? Is transportation instantaneous? What does-"

She stopped short when the one-eyed man turned to glare at her. Loki watched, amused, as her face turned a shade of red he had never seen on a person before.

He ignored her questions, partially because he didn't feel like helping these people and partially because he had never really thought about the answers before. On Asgard, some things just… were. You wanted to travel to a planet within Yggdrasil, you took the Bifrost. Nobody really bothered to question it.

The dark man broke into his thoughts by taking a half step forward.

"Nick Fury," he said, by way of introduction. What _was_ it with surnames on Midgard?

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with us," the man continued. "As you can see, Miss Foster has quite a few questions. For that matter, so do I."

Silently, Loki reviewed his options. This man- Fury- was obviously a soldier; just the way he held himself screamed "disciplined warrior". So, he would be prepared for anything. Well, _just about_ anything.

Spreading the fingers of his mind, the Asgardian searched for a thread of magic that would allow him to teleport. He tried his best to keep calm when he came up empty-handed, realizing with sudden horror that Midgard air had no magic in it. On Asgard, strands of power floated freely; if you could tap it, there was an almost endless supply at your disposal. Loki had always fought with magic, and knowing that it was absent made him feel small and incredibly vulnerable. He had enough reserves for one small illusion, if that. As of now, there was only one smart way to go.

"I suppose I'd better come along then, hadn't I? We wouldn't want to deny a lady the answers she seeks."

He bowed slightly to his brother's consort, and watched as she turned red again. How was it possible to attain such a deep hue? He would have to learn her secret; it might come in handy if he ever desired to impersonate a tomato.

Darcy let out a quiet laugh and he glanced at her, raising one eyebrow just a fraction. The woman shook her head and didn't respond.

"As a precaution," said Fury, "I'm going to have to handcuff you."

Loki nodded and held out his hands, saying "By all means."

The dark man unhooked the manacles from a loop in his belt and locked them around the Asgardian's wrists. As the metal touched his skin, Loki chose a lie… and screamed.


	4. Snakes and Ladders

Darcy reeled back with fear as Loki let put a terrified scream and dropped to the ground, fighting against the handcuffs. Jane flinched away and hugged her notebook tight, face pale and frightened. Even Director Fury looked unnerved, and that was no small thing. He turned and barked orders to the agents in Darcy's room- several of them came forward with guns.

"No, don't!" cried Jane when they raised their weapons. "Evidence- I need him!"

Darcy looked back at Loki, who was now writhing on the floor, the picture of silent agony.

"Wait-" she began; then, when the agents ignored her, "Hey! Stop!"

The Director glared at her, more terrifying with one eye than most people could be with two. "This is no time for sympathy, Miss Lewis! This man is a threat-"

"But he's _not!_" snapped Darcy. "_Look_. It's the handcuffs- I think they're _burning_ him."

It took about four seconds for the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. to see that she was right. Once he did, the handcuffs were removed in short order. Darcy had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from throwing up. The skin on Loki's wrists was red and raw, blistered almost beyond recognition. He was still lying curled on the floor, shuddering as he clutched his hands close to his body.

"Help him up," snapped the Director at Darcy, obviously angry about his mistake. Then he turned away and barked, "Coulson! Get over here." Pointing at a pair of young men stationed by the door he added, "You and you, take these-" he handed them the handcuffs and a plastic evidence bag, "-and find out _exactly _what Stark made them out of." The two agents saluted and left the room; Fury took Coulson aside and held a quiet, intense conversation with him out of Darcy's earshot.

Crouching with a grumbled complaint about the unfairness of the situation at hand, the political science student looped one of Loki's arms over her shoulders and tried to help him stand. She nearly crumpled under his weight and cursed quietly as she banged her knee against the floor. How could he possibly be so _heavy?_ The man was "skinnier than a beanpole", as her grandmother would say. It must have been the armor he was wearing, and by the way, why the hell did he need all of those straps? Most of them didn't even connect to anything. Darcy hadn't noticed his weight earlier, mostly because she was terrified that he would wake up before she got him into the bathroom.

"We still need to take him into custody." That was Senior Agent Coulson, and his voice sounded like the end of an argument. "You- Agent Sissel, was it? Please help Miss Lewis get him out to the van. We can't have him walking about until we know how to restrain him without- that- happening." He gestured at the burns on Loki's wrists.

The man he had spoken to saluted and walked over to Darcy as Coulson and the Director left the room. He took the stranger's other arm, helping both him and Darcy to their feet.

"How does he _weigh_ so much?" asked the agent incredulously.

"No idea," replied the student, pushing open the door to her room with her shoulder and helping Loki through it. "Come on, three floors to go."

By the time Darcy and the agent got Loki to the front door of the hotel, both of them were cursing the stranger's weight. Well, Darcy was the only one cursing aloud, but she was sure that the man helping her was having a similar- if silent- monologue.

Loki was no help at all; in fact, Darcy wasn't even sure if he was conscious. When they accidentally banged his head against the edge of the door on their way out of the lobby, he didn't react at all except to let out a halfhearted sort of groan.

He was dragged unceremoniously across the pavement to the black van that was parked beside the curb, and Darcy held him upright while the man who had assisted her clambered in. Then he and two other agents hauled the stranger- it was odd, but Darcy was beginning to think of him as _her_ stranger- through the van's sliding door. He lolled against one of the agents, who was doing his best to hold him upright.

Then, as one of the men went to slam the door shut, Loki looked up at Darcy… and _winked._

Darcy stared after the van as it rumbled away down the street, mouth half-open in shock. What the _hell?_ A tap on her shoulder made her turn around, and there was Jane with her notebook as always.

"Mr. Fury wants to see you back at the lab right away," she said, then paused to cover a yawn. "And I think I'll come, too; I still need a few good hours of sleep. Thanks for making me take a nap earlier, though, because otherwise I might have slept right through this whole thing."

A slightly dreamy look entered the astrophysicist's eyes as she continued, "This stranger- Loki- if he really _is_ from Asgard, he could be the key to recreating the Einstein-Rosen Bridge."

Darcy smiled a bit and shrugged, not really in the mood to continue their old argument right now. Jane was not usually a romantic, but as of late she had been hopelessly lost in a fantasy that involved her hammer-wielding hero coming back and carrying her off to Asgard on a bridge made of light. Darcy had informed her multiple times that she was being silly and to cut it out, but Jane wasn't in the frame of mind to listen. These days, she spent most of her time wrapped up in research or daydreams.

A thought occurred to Darcy just then, and she asked, "If Loki's from Asgard, is he connected to Thor in some way?"

Jane cringed slightly and glanced at her, saying, "You weren't really into mythology as a kid, were you?"

Darcy shook her head, not sure where her friend was going with this.

"Well," continued Jane, "It's kind of hard to explain. You might have to read up on it yourself. I think the library had a book on old Norse myths, but obviously it's closed now."

Darcy thought for a bit about this, and then said "If you want to head back to the lab, I'll meet you there in a bit. I'm going to see if I can get at that book."

Jane shrugged and replied, "Whatever floats your boat, Darce. I'll see you in a bit." She stepped onto the sidewalk and turned left, heading for the old gas station that had served first as her personal laboratory and then as an outpost for S.H.I.E.L.D.

Darcy went right, knowing that she would have to find what she was looking for quickly. She didn't want the Director to become any more irritated than he already was, and ignoring a direct order was a sure way to make that happen. She picked up her pace.

Puente Antiguo's public library was a small building that sat in the shade of a long-abandoned warehouse. It only had a single floor, but it contained thousands of stories. Every available space was filled with books, and a small niche in one corner had been left aside for a couple of old computers.

Trotting quickly up the front walk, Darcy reached the door, tried the handle, and found it locked. She pressed a hand against the glass and looked inside, thinking hard about how to get in. Then she tapped a finger against the window and, murmuring an apology to the old librarian, fetched up the hard corner of her purse and smashed it against the glass.

It cracked, but held firm.

She tried again, and this time it shattered inwards.

The shards crashed loudly on the hardwood floor and Darcy winced, hating what she had done. Reaching through the hole she had made, the student carefully turned the lock and opened the door.

As she withdrew her arm, the glass sliced across the back of her hand. Darcy let out a pained squeal but tried not to flinch, wanting to keep her arm as intact as possible. She kept her hand over her purse as she entered the building, not wishing to put blood on the floor as well as broken glass.

Going up to the librarian's desk, she leaned over the counter and pulled open every drawer she could reach until she found a box of Band-Aids. Opening it, she pulled two out and stuck them on the back of her hand. Now she could get on with her search without worrying about getting blood on any of the books, which was a relief.

On her right was the fiction section, and in the middle was "M" for "Mythology". Darcy walked over and ran the fingers of her uninjured hand over the spines of the books until she found the one entitled _The Age of Fable._

Pulling it off the shelf, the student tucked it under one arm and left the library.

She had some reading to do. First things first, though; she had probably stretched the Director's patience as far as it would go.

It was six blocks to the lab, and if she ran she could make it there in ten minutes or less.

As a general note, Darcy was not the fittest of people. She didn't eat enough to pack on extra pounds, but running had never been her strong suit and probably never would be. Just a half-dozen blocks was awful; add New Mexico's hot afternoon sun and you have the perfect hell for a woman named Darcy Lewis.

She was huffing and puffing by the time she reached the lab, and she felt horrifyingly sticky. There was no time to rest, though, because as soon as she walked through the doors two agents ushered her into the Director's office.

It was empty, but through a one-way window she could see a brightly lit room that contained a steel table and two chairs. Her stranger was sitting in one of them, looking surprisingly nonchalant despite the fact that his left ankle was handcuffed to one of the table's legs. This time it looked like they had used normal manacles, instead of the fancy new ones Mr. Stark had issued.

The man had assured everyone that they would contain any extraterrestrial being that happened to need containing; apparently they did this by torturing them into submission. Darcy had a few sharp words for him the next time she saw him, if she ever got the chance _to_ see him. He never came within a hundred miles of S.H.I.E.L.D. if he could help it, or so Darcy was told.

Reminded of the prisoner, the student glanced back through the one-way window. Loki was leaning back in his chair, fingertips pressed delicately together as he surveyed his surroundings. Then, to Darcy's shock and slight horror, he looked straight through the window at her. He glanced at the book in her hands, and she saw his eyes move as he read the title. Then he smirked slightly, seemingly amused by something, and went back to studying the interior of his temporary prison.

"Miss Lewis." The Director's voice came from behind the student, making her jump.

"Please, sit down." He gestured to a chair in front of his desk as he took the one behind it, and Darcy noticed that Jane had accompanied the Director into his office. The astrophysicist took a chair by the door and opened her journal, looking over the notes she had taken.

Darcy looked back at the Director as he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"You're going to go in _there_," he said, nodding at the one-way window, "And talk to him. I need more details about where he came from and why. But _first,_ Miss Lewis, I have a few questions for _you._"

Clutching her book tight in her hands, Darcy nodded. She couldn't say that she hadn't been expecting this; after all, who knew if she was really just lying about Loki to cause a scene? She hoped that people didn't actually think that; after all, hadn't she done everything possible to prove to these people that she was trustworthy?

The Director's questions were mainly about the events of the afternoon, and Darcy answered them truthfully. The only thing she omitted was her conversation with Loki; for that, she said simply that he had told her his name before falling unconscious. She wasn't sure why she left that part out, exactly, but she knew she couldn't tell the Director about it. It would be... bad. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.

When she was done talking, the Director leaned back in his chair and tapped one finger on his desk. Then, after a few long moments of silence, he stood up and pulled a keycard out of the pocket of his jacket.

"I'll give you five to ten minutes in there," he said, turning to face the door behind his desk. "Depending on how much he tells you, of course." He swiped the card in a slot beside the door and added, "Just talk to him, for now. Try and get as much information from him as you can, but don't force anything. I want to know how he'll react to questioning, but I don't want him to get violent." The Director typed in a passcode and the door buzzed as it unlocked.

"What makes you think he'll tell me anything at all?" asked Darcy, standing up.

The man held the door open for her and replied, "Let's put it this way. You ask him nicely, and then _I_ get my hands on him. So let's hope he talks to you, if only for his own sake."

The student gulped slightly as the one-eyed man grinned wickedly at her and shut the door. The sound of it locking echoed in the steel room, and she clutched her book in trembling fingers.


	5. Midgard Magic

Loki didn't look up at the woman until he heard the door lock behind her. For a moment, he even considered ignoring her completely; after all, it was partially her fault that he was in this mess.

Then, of course, years of habitual good manners took hold and forced him to stand up in the presence of a lady.

The two studied each other for a few moments; Loki with mild interest, Darcy with terrified wariness. She might be scared, but the dark man could not be too worried for her safety if he had agreed to let her come in.

It seemed to be in his best interest to be polite to the woman; if he showed any signs of aggression, she would leave and he would have no chance to get information from her.

The Asgardian held out a hand, gesturing at the chair nearest the woman.

"Please," he said, being as courteous as he could. "Have a seat. What does your leader wish to know?"

Darcy seemed surprised when he said this, and Loki wondered why. Wasn't it obvious? The only reason the dark man could have for sending in such a stupid and easily frightened person was to ask him questions without making it look like an interrogation.

While he waited for Darcy to respond, the Asgardian retook his seat and folded his hands neatly on the table.

After a few moments, during which Loki assumed she was gathering her scant thoughts, Darcy stated, "He wants to know how you got here without our sensors picking you up."

It was interesting, Loki thought, that she said '_our _sensors'. Surely she wasn't part of the organization? She hardly seemed qualified; even now, he could see her hands trembling.

He watched as she set the book he had seen her with earlier on the table, and noticed that she had something stuck to the back of her left hand. It hadn't been there before, and he wondered what its purpose was. It almost looked like a bandage, but bandages didn't hold themselves on the skin.

In wondering about it, Loki almost forgot the question that had been put to him.

When Darcy cleared her throat to get his attention, he looked up sharply and was rewarded with a small squeak. Loki smirked at her skittishness, and then returned to the topic at hand.

"I do not know, Midgardian. When I fell from Asgard, I expected death. My arrival in your quarters was as much a surprise to me as it was to you." He could almost see the woman's mind turn his answer over and over, and thought about how astoundingly boring it must be inside her brain.

After a few moments he prompted, "Was there anything else?"

Darcy started to shake her head, then stopped.

"Yes, actually," she said. "How are you connected to Thor?"

At the mention of his brother's name, Loki felt his right eye twitch involuntarily. Then he took a breath and told the woman, "I think that's a story best told on paper." He nodded at the book she had brought in with her.

The statement had been meant as a dismissal and, luckily, Darcy got it. She stood and walked over to the door; it unlocked after a moment and she stepped through, closing it behind herself.

Loki watched until a buzzer sounded out that it was locked, and then he rested his face on his hands. He had hoped that he would not have to hear mention of his adoptive brother here, but as his magic was gone so seemed to be his luck.

He had, of course, recognized the woman Jane as soon as he saw her; she was the one Thor had vowed to return for.

He wondered if she knew that her hero was never coming back, that he had destroyed the only way to Midgard.

Probably not.

Perhaps he would tell her this himself, just to see the heartbreak on her face.

Yes, that would be nice.

The next thing Loki knew was the sound of the door buzzing as it unlocked, and he was waking up with his cheek partially stuck to the metal table. A tall, unfamiliar man with dark hair was coming into the room, bearing a tray with a sandwich on it.

He placed the tray on the table and slid it towards Loki, commenting, "Miss Lewis will be in shortly to speak with you."

The man left as Loki peeled his face off of the table, and again the buzzer rang out.

He was beginning to hate that sound.

Reaching forward, he grabbed the sandwich from the tray and inspected it, curling a lip in disgust as he did so. The bread was white and flimsy, the lettuce wilted. The meat could have been anything; it was pink and hardly seemed edible. With a sigh, Loki brought it to his mouth and took a bite.

As he swallowed, his stomach clenched painfully and then let out a frightening rumble.

Horrified, the Asgardian dropped the sandwich back onto the tray and stared at it.

Why in Yggdrasil would they want to poison him? There was no motive- unless, of course, they now had the answers they sought and wished to get rid of him. But why like this? It would be easier just to get one of their men to shoot him where he sat. Did they think he would die ignorant of their betrayal?

And there again was the looming prospect of death.

He supposed he deserved it, after all those years of chaos, but he would have preferred to be killed by his brother. That at least would be honorable. But _no,_ he was going to die alone, on Midgard, in a tiny little cell with none but a security camera to mourn his passing.

There was something heroic in that, he thought suddenly. It was the perfect tragedy. With a slight smile, Loki closed his eyes.

He heard the detestable buzzer once more, but kept his eyes shut; in all probability it was the one-eyed man or his lackey, come to check and see if he had died yet.

"Are you going to finish this? Because I'll _totally_ take it if you aren't. I missed lunch."

Loki opened his eyes in order to glare at the prattling woman.

"I wouldn't. If it is killing me, it will most certainly kill you."

Darcy watched him for a moment, as though trying to decide whether or not he was joking. Then she set down the object she was carrying and pulled the tray towards herself.

"In case I was not being clear," Loki stated, "I am dying."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "You're not dying," she said, peeling off the top piece of bread to see what was inside the sandwich. "Stop being so melodramatic."

Loki's stomach rolled and rumbled again; "Ha!" he exclaimed, glad at the chance to prove that he was right. "I told you, didn't I? Somebody has poisoned me."

The woman stared at him for a moment, apparently giving his comment time to sink in, and then she began to laugh.

Loki was taken aback; certainly _she_ wasn't behind this? Or- and this thought was slightly unnerving- had she been playing dumb all along just so that she could kill him? Perhaps she held a grudge against his brother and had decided to take it out on him?

"Haven't you ever been hungry before?" she asked, putting the top piece of bread back on the sandwich and pushing the tray towards him.

Loki frowned at her angrily, not seeing how this question was relevant to his imminent death. "If you lived on Asgard," he replied haughtily, "You would know how stupid you sound."

Darcy just shook her head, still smiling. "It's your stomach," she informed him. "It rumbles when it's empty. So eat. You'll feel better."

"Since when are you my mother?" grumbled Loki, but he didn't reject the food a second time.

As he ate, the Asgardian took a moment to look over the item Darcy had brought in with her. It was mostly so that he wouldn't have to admit that he was wrong about being poisoned, but also partially because the thing was so out of place.

It appeared to be a small shrub in a black pot, and, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a small shrub in a black pot. There was absolutely nothing special about it, at all.

"What is the purpose of that?" he asked, pointing.

"Well," replied Darcy, "You're gonna be in here for a while. Probably a long while. So I thought I would try and make the place a bit more…" She trailed off, obviously trying to think of a way that an ordinary potted plant could help him. "Homey?" She concluded, rather lamely.

Loki finished the sandwich and pushed the tray away, then looked up at the woman and narrowed his eyes. "So why are you _really_ here?" His tone was inquisitive; not so much annoyed as curious. Why would the dark man send her in with a plant? It had to be a trick of some kind, although for once he could not see the outcome or the reason behind it.

With a sigh, Darcy leaned forwards so that her elbows were resting on the table, her chin in her hands as she spoke. "If you really must know, the plant is actually a secret listening device, because we didn't already have enough in here."

Loki frowned slightly, not sure if she was being serious. Her voice always sounded so sarcastic.

The woman rolled her eyes and said, "_Honestly._ You're supposed to be ridiculously clever. Can't you tell when somebody is trying to be _nice_ to you?"

The Asgardian's eyebrows shot up; he could hardly believe what he had just heard. "Why on Midgard would you be nice to me?" he asked, now genuinely curious.

Darcy's eyes began to roll once more, but she stopped them. "Because," she said, and now she really _was_ laying on the sarcasm, "You're just so helpless. Chained up here like a bad dog. If you don't want the stupid plant, I'll take it with me."

Standing, the woman picked up the tray and shrub, then turned to leave the room.

Suddenly, Loki saw a glimmer of something familiar hidden in the leaves. "Wait!" he cried, and Darcy paused, turning her head slightly to look at him. He hadn't meant to sound so desperate, but he had to know if what he had glimpsed was real.

"I mean," he corrected, "If you would be so kind, please leave the plant. It's… nice."

He forced a smile and hoped that it didn't look as fake as it felt.

"Alright, if you want it that badly," replied the scientist with a shrug, putting the potted shrub back onto the table. Then she left, carrying the tray under one arm.

The buzzer sounded as the door locked behind her, and Loki was left alone once more.

For a few minutes he waited quietly, occupying himself with tugging on the handcuff around his ankle to see if it would come off. Then, failing in this endeavor, he fiddled with the bandages around his wrists. His "burns" had vanished after a few hours as his stock of magic slowly dissipated, but luckily one of the agencies' doctors had tended to his injuries before that happened. When the bandages no longer held his interest, he glanced at the mirror on the wall to the left of the security camera.

In doing so, he knew full well that he would see more than his reflection. The Asgardian had learned at a young age that he could sense when he was being lied to, and he had tasted the familiar tang of falsehood as soon as he had been put in this room. Upon closer inspection, he had found that the mirror set into the wall on his left was actually a hidden window. By changing the way he thought about it, he was able to see straight through the reflective glass.

Now, as he looked at it, the room beyond became perfectly clear to him. Loki grinned; it was empty. The one-eyed man and the woman Foster were obviously aware of who he was and his place in their myths and legends; they should know better than to leave him alone.

Leaning forwards, Loki stretched his arms as far as they would go and just barely managed to snag the plant's black pot with two fingers. He pulled it closer and got a better grip, then dragged the small shrub forward until he could both of his hands on it.

The plant was not extraordinary in of itself, but it was certainly hiding a secret. Reaching out to it with his mind, Loki was shocked to find a tangle of silver threads running through every leaf, branch, and root. Closing his eyes, he teased out one of these threads for closer inspection.

It was magic, that was for certain, but he had never seen anything quite like it in his life. As a man who was widely considered a master of magic, this was saying something. On Asgard, magic in its purest form was pearly white. Loki was used to the invisible threads turning green when he touched them with his mind, but this rule did not seem to apply on Midgard. It shouldn't make a difference, though; magic was magic, no matter where you were in the universe. Now that he had it, the only thing standing between Loki and his freedom was a simple unlocking spell.

Opening his eyes, the Asgardian guided the silver thread towards his ankle. When the power fought against him, he gave it a sharp tug. The thread snapped, and a silent explosion hit Loki square in the chest, tossing him backwards. His chair fell with him and he landed on it painfully, feeling the metal seat leave bruises on the backs of his legs.

The potted plant sat serenely on the table, looking quite a bit more menacing than it had when Darcy brought it in. As Loki sat up, the world swam momentarily out of focus; when he blinked to clear his head, images seared themselves into the darkness behind his eyes.

A burning forest, a field covered in tree stumps, a river with fish floating dead on the surface. Over all of it was a feeling of immense sorrow and loss.

Shaking his head to clear it, the Asgardian pushed aside the loneliness that stabbed at his heart. Tilting his neck back, Loki glared at the plant on the table. It was just a shrub in a pot, and it could no more hurt him than it could talk. Yet, somehow, it had managed to throw him out of his chair and had then gone on to forge a semitransparent psychic link with him. The silver magic frightened him, and he did not like the feeling any more than he liked being drained of power and chained to a table.

Working around the handcuff on his ankle, Loki stood, righted his chair, and sat down again. For a while he sat perfectly still, hands folded neatly on the table as he looked the plant over. He would not touch it until he knew how to control the power it hid, and maybe not even then, if he could help it. After silently contemplating the plant for the better part of an hour, the Asgardian felt his eyelids begin to droop. Leaning forwards, he rested his face on his hands and succumbed to a hodgepodge of incoherent dreams.

An out-of-place sound dragged Loki from his half-asleep state. It was almost like a low groan, and if he hadn't known better the Asgardian might have compared it to the sound of rapidly cooling metal. Amused by the thought, Loki looked up and stopped dead. The wall opposite him had a spot of white frost on it. As he watched, the ice spread and spiderwebbed across the steel. After a few moments he was able to see his breath; after a few more, he realized that he could not feel the cold.

Glancing down, he found to his horror that a deep shade of blue had begun to spread outwards from the veins on the backs of his hands. He knew that his eyes would soon turn a deep, bloody red, if they hadn't already. He wished he could have closed them, so that the camera in the corner of the room would not betray his secret to the mortals who watched him so closely, but he could not force himself into blindness.

By the time he looked back up at it, the ice had covered the wall and started spreading across the floor towards his feet. Loki would have yanked his knees up to his chest and huddled there on his chair, but the handcuff on his ankle prevented him from doing so. That, and something else distracted him; a low rumbling had started, and now the plant on the table began to shiver. Its small leaves and branches were whipping in the wake of an invisible gale, the pot rattling back and forth. As a finger of frost crept up one of the far legs of the table and reached for the shrub, a whip of silver light exploded from the plant and snapped against the ice.

There was a sound like rending metal as the two powers fought madly against one another; without any magic of his own, Loki was forced to stay where he was and watch like a helpless bystander. It was awful, having to rely on a plant to save him. Awful and humiliating.

Then the ice was gone, vaporized by the potted shrub's silver magic.

The Asgardian almost had time to breathe a sigh of relief, but then the invisible silver whip was snapping back, wrapping around his throat. It sank through fabric and skin like they weren't there at all, settling around the core of Loki's power and squeezing tight like a noose. It filled the empty space where his magic used to be with silver light, driving the Asgardian into a corner of his own mind. His body went rigid, sliding out of the steel chair and hitting the floor with a bump. Loki had enough presence to curl his knees up to his chest and clutch them tight, but then he was gone again, squeezed back to make room for the strange magic that was filling up his body.


	6. Myths and Monsters

On the Director's orders, Darcy's hotel room home was being scoured for clues as to why Loki had shown up there instead of way out in the desert. The being the case, The political science student had been forced to relocate. She had returned to the room she had occupied before Puente Antiguo had been evacuated, the one she had lived in before the gas station had been turned into a monster that sprawled out like some sort of enormous squid-creature. Its arms were made of semitransparent plastic tubing, and at the heart of it was an open space that had been filled with walls and partitions and interrogation rooms, the biggest and most important of which was connected directly to Director Fury's personal office. It was here that Loki was being kept.

Darcy wasn't particularly inclined to care about the stranger from outer space right now. The student was flopped on her cot, buried in the stolen book of mythology. She had taken a shower and her hair was still wet. She had braided it back so that it wouldn't drip water on the pages. The woman would have made a strange sight indeed if anyone could have seen her, dressed in pajamas as she was. It was a matching set of shirt and pants, blue, with a pattern of yellow ducks. They had been a gift, a going-away present from her mother before she left for college. They had sentimental value, and besides, they were soft. Darcy loved them.

A sharp rap on the door made her look up; glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she saw that it was almost one in the morning.

"Who is it?" she called, knowing that something big must have happened and hoping it wasn't bad.

"Miss Lewis," can an unfamiliar female voice, "Are you awake?"

Rolling her eyes, Darcy put a bookmark between the pages under her fingers and replied, "No. I'm talking in my sleep. What do you want?"

The door opened enough for the woman to put her head into the room. She looked Darcy up and down, forced back a smile, and relayed her message. "It's… Loki, miss. Something's wrong with him and Miss Foster says he won't talk to anybody but you."

"Can't I deal with this in the morning?" moaned Darcy, snapping her book shut.

"If it could wait," replied the woman, "I wouldn't have come."

"Alright," sighed the student. "Give me a few minutes to change."

"I can't," her visitor interrupted. "Sorry, miss, but orders are orders. You're to come as you are."

Darcy faked an exasperated groan as she stood up, but it wasn't as realistic as it could have been. For the first time since S.H.I.E.L.D. occupied Puente Antiguo, she would be useful for something other than fetching this or carrying that. It felt good to be needed.

The woman escorted Darcy to the director's office and threw a stiff salute as Fury himself opened the door.

"Miss Lewis," he stated, and Darcy thought she heard a note of annoyance in his voice. It was worrying, to say the least.

As the political science student was ushered into the office, she found that Jane was sitting in a swivel chair in front of a wall covered in monitors, dials, and other things of a very big-brotherly sort.

The astrophysicist was dressed in jeans and a red _Pluto: Revolve in Peace _t-shirt. When she caught sight of Darcy's pajamas, the older woman tried and failed to hide a grin.

Director Fury dismissed Darcy's escort, and as he shut the door Jane's amused smile faltered and faded. Standing, she walked over to the one-way window and stated, "The agent who checked in on him at midnight found him like this." She began to add "Come and see," but Darcy was already by her side, peering into the room beyond the glass.

The stranger- _her_ stranger, as she seemed to be calling him now- was sitting on the floor underneath the table with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring unblinkingly at the far wall.

Frowning, Darcy turned back to Jane and said, "Let me see the video feed. I talked to him at a little after eight this evening."

"Here," said the astrophysicist, turning a dial one the panel in front of her. "I've got it. Take a look."

Darcy stepped forwards as a black-and-white security video flickered to life on the computer screen. The quality was good and the sound even better, so the lack of color was not as big a problem as it could have been. The student took the mouse from her friend with a polite "May I?" and scrolled until she found the right time frame.

Darcy watched herself exit the interrogation room, leaving Loki with the potted plant she had brought for him. She had to skip through about fifteen minutes of video during which nothing out of the ordinary happened. The prisoner simply sat there, fiddling with the handcuff around his ankle and picking at the bandages on his wrists.

Then, suddenly, he looked up and to his left, presumably at the false window. For a few moments he was still, just sitting and staring. Then he seemed to see something that amused him, because he smiled slightly and turned away, reaching for the potted plant. It was almost out of reach, but by stretching out his arms as far as they would go, he was just able to snag the rim with the tips of his fingers. Darcy watched as Loki pulled the stunted plant towards himself, inspecting the small shrub as though he had never seen one before.

"This is where stuff gets really freaky," commented Jane, as the man on the screen closed his eyes.

With a suddenness that made Darcy jump, some invisible force threw Loki backwards, knocking over his chair in the process. The student winced as her stranger landed hard on the metal, but Loki didn't even seem phased by the incident. If anything, he just looked mildly annoyed. The man took a moment to glare at the potted plant, and then he stood up, righted his chair, and sat down. He then went back to studying the plant, but Darcy noticed that he took great care not to touch it.

Darcy had to skip ahead again, but for an hour of in-video time, nothing happened. Eventually, Loki grew bored and set his face on his hands, closing his eyes as he did so. To all appearances, he had fallen completely asleep.

"That can't be it," the student began to say, looking over at Jane.

"It's not," replied the astrophysicist. "Fast-forward about twenty minutes."

Turning back to the monitor, Darcy did as she was told. She returned the video to normal speed when her stranger raised his head. At first, Loki simply seemed tired. Darcy could certainly relate to that. Then he caught sight of something just to the right of the camera, and his expression morphed into one of chilling terror. Now, Darcy had seen her fair share of horror movies, and this tended to be the sort of thing that happened right before the characters started dying freaky, gruesome deaths.

"What is he looking at?" she wondered aloud, voice quaking slightly. Then, before anyone could answer, she noticed something strange. Glancing down, she found a pause button on the panel before her and touched it, then looked up again.

"What?" began Jane, but Darcy held up a forefinger and the astrophysicist fell silent. Reaching forwards, Darcy touched the screen with both hands and then spread them apart, zooming in on Loki and inspecting the pixilated image carefully.

Because the camera recorded in black and white, it was difficult to confirm what she had seen. Then her friend leaned forwards, squinting at the screen.

"What is… that?" she asked, tracing a small circle around something. A thin red line trailed behind her finger, marking out the oddity.

Darcy looked closer at the spot she had indicated, and noticed the same strange thing Jane had. "I think it's his breath," she said, hesitatingly. "But that's impossible."

"There's something off about his hands, too," noted the astrophysicist. "Here, may I?"

Darcy nodded, and Jane touched a button on the panel, turning a small dial far to the left. The video began to play in slow motion, allowing plenty of time for Jane, Darcy, and the Director to see Loki's hands turn from white to dark grey.

"Frostbite wouldn't set in that quickly," Darcy noted.

"Why didn't I see that earlier?" muttered Jane, seeming to speak to herself.

"What _I_ want to know," declared the political science student, "Is why I wasn't called right away. This is huge." She paused for a second, thinking about something, and then added, "And why am I so important all of a sudden, anyways? This morning I was booted out of my lab space, and now I'm 'the only person the prisoner will speak to'? What's with that?"

She was ranting and she knew it, but she wasn't angry until Jane laid a hand on her arm and said "Calm down," in a quiet voice.

"Screw you!" snapped Darcy, jerking away from her friend.

"If you want your questions answered," rumbled a deep, angry voice, "You'd best do as you're told."

The student turned to shoot a glare at the Director, but she didn't dare backtalk to the man who could have her memory wiped clean and her sorry ass dumped in the middle of the desert. Instead, Darcy thumped herself angrily into a chair and crossed her arms like a pouting child. She had lost her lab space and her posh hotel room in the same day, cut up her hand, and now she was sitting in front of the leader of a secret government organization while wearing duck pajamas. It was like a nightmare, the kind in which one takes a life-altering test and doesn't know a single answer.

"To start with your first question," rumbled the Director, "The prisoner's condition was discovered little more than an hour ago. Because Miss Foster has done the most research on the Asgard case, she had seniority. We call her first when it comes to this particular prisoner." He glanced at Jane and narrowed his one eye angrily at her. "I would not have called upon you at all, Miss Lewis, but your… _friend _requested you specially."

"I just wanted to give you something to do," explained the astrophysicist meekly, face turning pink with embarrassment. "I knew you were bored."

"Oh," replied Darcy quietly, properly ashamed of herself. "I... well. Thanks."

Jane nodded, accepting her friend's unspoken apology.

"It's a trap, of course," stated the Director, causing the two women to look at him as he stood up from his desk and walked over to the two-way mirror.

"No-oo-ooo," began Darcy, drawing out the word as she thought of what to say next. "What I mean is," she corrected when the Director turned his head to glare at her, "I think I should see the rest of the surveillance feed first."

Running one finger across the screen before her, Darcy zoomed the video back out to its normal proportions and turned the dial to play it at regular speed. Something in the lower left-hand corner caught her eye for a moment, but then she saw what the plant on the table was doing.

Darcy stared as a breeze that didn't seem to touch Loki whipped the branches back and forth. The expression on the prisoner's face changed from unadulterated horror to uncomfortable awe, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he liked the things he was seeing. Then, suddenly, something seemed to catch him by the throat; the man was forced back against his chair, choking for a moment before going completely limp and sliding to the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest, staring unblinkingly at the far wall.

Darcy sped up the video, covering several hours' worth of material in a matter of minutes. Loki did not budge; in fact, he didn't even blink. Not once.

The political science heard Jane mutter, "What could he possibly be looking at?"

"Weeping Angel," Darcy answered, straight-faced. Jane looked at her, confused, and the younger woman rolled her eyes. "Never mind," she stated. "It was a joke."

"Oh," replied Jane, quietly.

For a long time the room was silent except for the quiet humming of the monitors. Then the student sat up in her chair and stated, "I have to go in there."

"Darcy-" Jane began, but she stopped when the woman in question turned to look at her.

Behind them, the Director's voice growled "Even for you, Miss Lewis, that is an awful idea."

"Mr. Fury, sir," said Darcy, doing her best to be polite. "I don't think that it's a trap. What motive could he possibly have?"

"Loki is a trickster, Darcy," explained Jane. "He doesn't _need_ a motive."

As the student looked from her friend to the Director, the one-eyed man added, "Miss Foster is correct. The mythological Loki was ever an agent of chaos."

Now Darcy was truly appalled. "So you're just going to _leave_ him there? Alone?"

"An astute observation, Miss Lewis," replied the Director, and she could hear a smirk in his voice that belied his neutral expression.

Darcy shook her head, unbelieving. "Just let me in," she implored her friend's boss, trying not to sound whiny. "I'll see if I can't get him to tell us what scared him."

The Director shook his head, walking over to stand by his desk. "I won't have you representing the Earth in duck pajamas," he told Darcy sternly.

"Then I won't represent the Earth," the student snapped back, causing Jane to draw in a hissing breath through her teeth. The Director's eye narrowed in anger, and Darcy quickly decided that she should speak her piece before he shot her down, perhaps in both senses of the word. "If you want to leave him in there, day in and day out until he dies," she said, "_Fine_. But _I _will _not_. Now, Director Fury, _o__pen that door._"

Out of the corner of her eye, the student saw her friend cringe and hunker down in her chair as though she were expecting an explosion. Having heard of the Director's nasty temper, Darcy thought that Jane might just have the right of it. She'd be damned if she wasn't going to stand her ground, though. Propping her fists on her hips, the student did her best to look as fierce as anyone in duck pajamas could.

Then- and this is what scared Darcy the most- the Director began to laugh.

"Miss Lewis," he said, "Sometimes I can't tell if you're the most foolish person I've ever met, or the bravest."

"Maybe both," muttered Darcy, but her words were drowned out by the buzzer that sounded as the Director unlocked the door.

As soon as she stepped into the room, Darcy knew something was horribly wrong. The back of her neck was prickling in the way that necks will when you misstep on a dark staircase, when for one terrible heartbeat the ground is not where you thought it was going to be.

The door locked behind her and Darcy crept cautiously forward. "Loki?" she asked, voice quiet. When he didn't respond, she clutched her book tightly in both hands and snapped, "Get out from under that table. You're freaking me out."

Now that she thought about it, she wished that she had brought her taser. She didn't know how many volts a shock from that thing delivered, but it was enough to knock out one Asgardian, so maybe it could wake up another.

Grumbling in order to drown the clamoring voice of her fear, the woman knelt by the table and reached out to her stranger. As Darcy's fingers brushed his shoulder, reality as she knew it shattered forever.


	7. Mind over Matter

_Forward motion. The past was gone, the future not yet determined. Only the present was real. Shifting, flowing. There was a sense of something left behind, something forgotten, but it was faint and far away. Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. All that existed was this moment._

_An… itch. That was the only word for it. Right in the middle of his back. Since when did he have a back? Since when did he have a gender? He felt it now. What had been lost. A sense of self. A sense of being. A sense of living._

_But what was life, if not a precursor to death? It was all around him. Moving, shaping itself to survive. Mortality was a strange, strange thing. He had never thought about it before. Or maybe he had. It was impossible to remember._

_And now memory pulled at him, itching like mad, screaming to be called upon. He found that he had a head and turned it, looking with newly discovered eyes at the past. Thousands of silver threads sprouted from his spine like so many nerves and veins, flowing away into the dark. In some places the bright metallic sheen was cracked, showing traces of green beneath. In them he saw his reflection, or a memory of it. Young in some, and not so in others, but always caught in the shadow of something larger than himself._

_A few of the threads sparked with bright orange anger and deep crimson hatred. A memory of burning warned him away from those. Others were sad. No, sad was not strong enough. He knew he had a heart, because it ached every time he brushed against their melancholy grayness._

_He turned away. He had to. The past would only hurt him if he poked too closely at it._

_Then he saw them. More threads, breaking away from his shoulder. The green that was his personal magic had wrapped around them, but the silver power did not seem to know they were there. These new threads were a riot of color, shifting every time he tried to pin them down with his mind. This was the past, too, but not his. He reached out and touched the threads._

_It began with peaceful solitude, and an idea of comforting familiarity. Many of these threads were frayed, and some had even broken entirely, but the snapped ones had been tied back together. As he progressed further into this unfamiliar history, though, the threads began to heat up until they were bright orange with anger. After this they dulled to bitterness the color of dried blood. After that, an entire rainbow of hues flashed underneath his fingers. Buried in the colors were abandoned ideas, forgotten thoughts, and more images than he could count. An entire life passed before his eyes, but he was only able to hold onto small pieces of it. The rest was gone before he could grab it. But, if this life wasn't his, then who did it belong to? The query was drowned in a sudden wash of blue loneliness. It covered everything, tainting old memories and swamping the hint of green magic that was entwined with it. Who could possibly be so alone? He had lived in a shadow all of his life, but not once had it ever felt like this. Not until the very end, when he had finally realized that he had lost. That he was utterly alone in the universe, separated from his family by his own actions and a million miles of space._

_Was this real? He thought that it might be, but then again, it could be just another hallucination. This time, though, something felt… different._

_Silver power flared, but green magic pushed it back. This was __**his**__mind, and he would rather die than be trapped inside it a moment longer. He felt the cords that bound him snap, and he shook himself free of them._

Upon opening his eyes, the first thing Loki noticed was that there was a woman kneeling beside him. Her hand was locked tight around his shoulder, as though she had planned to shake him awake. Her eyes were wide and staring, pupils dilated so far that the irises were completely hidden. She didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, which was worrying. Her expression was one of shock- almost _horrified_ shock. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Reaching to his shoulder, Loki pried loose the woman's fingers and dropped her hand. It had taken him a while to recognize her, mostly because of what she was wearing. The last time he had seen Darcy, she had been dressed in a gray t-shirt and blue jeans. Now she was clothed in something very strange indeed. Putting out a hand, the Asgardian touched the woman's arm in order to feel the fabric. It was soft, like his favorite cape, but the weave was much looser. The cloth was blue, and covered in a pattern of cutesy yellow birds. How odd.

Loki scooted back a bit, meaning to stand up. However, a thought stopped him before he could. If this woman had touched his shoulder while he was unconscious or trapped or whatever it was that had happened to, was it her past that he had seen? Suddenly he felt guilty, which was strange because he _never_ felt guilty about eavesdropping or finding out things that he wasn't supposed to know. In fact, he usually took pleasure in it. Not this time, it seemed.

Caught up in his thoughts, Loki didn't notice that Darcy had come around until she landed a stinging slap on his face. He snarled without words, startled into reaching instinctively for his magic as the woman scrambled away. His green power was gone, of course, but the fingers of his mind scrabbled at the silver threads and caught them. The plant's magic held as he drew it out, throwing it around the student like a rope.

Darcy's arms snapped to her sides, and she kicked weakly as the magic lifted her several inches off of the ground. The woman opened her mouth to scream, but the silver threads coiled around her throat and tightened. The student's eyes bulged slightly as she fought for air.

_**Kill her.**_

The cold voice in Loki's mind startled him. It was old, so much older than he was, and filled with power. Menace, too, and bitter hatred.

**_She attacked you. She _deserves_ it._**

The silver magic drew tighter, and Loki saw the skin on Darcy's face begin to tinge blue. He knew that he couldn't let her die; murder was one of the many ways to make sure that he never left this cell. Grabbing at the threads, Loki formed his mind into a knife and began to cut them. The ancient voice began to fade, shrieking at him until it was gone.

Darcy dropped to the floor, coughing hard and obviously alive. Her glasses had tumbled from her face, but it didn't seem that she had noticed. A buzzer sounded and the student scrambled blindly towards the door. Loki stayed where he was, fighting to hold back the silver magic as it thrashed against his control. A pair of hands grabbed the student, yanking her out of the room as the door slammed shut.

Silence ensued. Loki sat back on his heels with a tired sigh, cursing himself and the strange metallic power. The odds that he would be let out on good behavior had plummeted; there was no way he'd be leaving this cell without permission. Looking around, he saw Darcy's glasses sitting on the floor and picked them up. There had to be a way to get them back to her; judging by the lenses, she must be nearly blind without them. Standing, he caught sight of the plant sitting serenely on the table. He would have torn it to pieces, but the raw power it contained was too important. He had to find out how to control the magic before it got out of hand again and did damage of a more permanent nature. Sitting down, he placed Darcy's spectacles on the table and thought about what to do.

Right now, it would be best to build a wall in his mind. He didn't usually lose control of his temper like he had just now, but twice since meeting her he had snapped angrily at Darcy. There was just something about her that aggravated him on an almost subconscious level. If it happened a third time, he wanted to be prepared. Closing his eyes, the Asgardian breathed deeply and sank back into his own mind.

_There was a void here, a wide and gaping hole right through the center of his being. Part of him had been ripped away when he fell from the edge of his world and lost contact with the magic he had always relied upon. Nature abhors a vacuum, though, and the silver power had found its way inside him. The threads were tangled and knotted, snarled up into a massive mess. It was particularly awful because Loki had always prided himself on keeping his power neat and orderly. His **green **magic had never been this disobedient, that was for certain. With an internal sigh, he set to the task of straightening up._

_The final touch was a wall. He didn't use the silver magic for this, because that was precisely what he was trying to hold at bay. Instead, he reached deep inside himself, tapping into the very core of his being. This was a delicate and dangerous process, because the power he was using now was his life force. If he took too much, he would either die or fall into a deep vegetative state. Now was not the time to find out which. _

_Carefully, he drew out a single white thread and tugged at it with his mind, willing it to become the shape he needed. The wall settled around the silver magic and its connection to him snapped. The thing he had created was now an independent working, completely neutral in both power and purpose. It would hold._

Loki opened his eyes. What he saw did not surprise him. It was the man Coulson, to whom the dark-skinned commander had spoken after the fiasco with the handcuffs. The agent was sitting in the chair opposite his captive, watching the Asgardian closely.

"There's not much that surprises me any more," he stated calmly. "What you did earlier was an unwelcome exception." He leaned back in his seat, keeping eye contact with Loki. "You're dangerous."

"A good observation, son of Coul," replied the Asgardian. "What gave you the first clue?"

"You hurt one of my agents," continued the agent, ignoring his captive's sarcastic comment. "I have a problem with that."

His words prompted a snort of derision from Loki, who then said "Darcy is no _agent_. She's here is because she saw too much of one classified thing or another." He shook his head. "The only reason you sent her in here to talk to me is because she's expendable. Miss Lewis is dead weight and everyone- including her, I assure you- knows it."

Loki had assumed that Coulson would be shocked into silence by the depth of his knowledge, so he smirked with satisfaction when the man said nothing for a long while. When the agent reached inside his suit jacket, though, Loki froze. The fingers of his mind scrabbled against the wall he had set up, but he had no idea if the magic could help him even if he was able to get at it. Midgardian weapons were one of the few things Loki knew absolutely nothing about.

The item Coulson drew from his pocket was not meant to injure or kill. It was, in fact, a clear plastic bag containing a pair of handcuffs. The agent laid it on the table, straightening the bag so that the top was parallel to the edge of the metal surface.

Then the man said, "We got a call back from Tony this morning, and he told us something really interesting. These handcuffs-" here he tapped the bag, as though he thought his captive might not have noticed them. "Are nothing special." Suddenly, the agent pulled his other hand out from under the table and pelted something at Loki. Without thinking, the Asgardian threw up an open palm and caught the object before it hit him. Looking at it, he found that Coulson had thrown a small statuette of a cat at him. He glanced up at the agent with a small smirk, but it faded when the man set both hands on the table in a very self-satisfied manner.

"What did you do?" asked Loki, giving the hand that held the statuette a quick twist and glancing down at it when the polished cat didn't vanish.

The agent answered his question with another more statement-like inquiry. "These handcuffs didn't actually burn you, did they?"

"No," replied Loki, absently. It must have been the little cat that tipped him off; it looked like it had been made of the same metal as the thick bands embedded in the manacles. His chair and the table were the other material, of course. He wondered who had suspected him from the start, even though it wasn't particularly important.

What frustrated him more was the fact that simple spells he had used all of his life were rendered useless here. Under normal circumstances, the sleight-of-hand trick used by Midgardian 'magicians' would have put the object he was holding into the nothing-space that lay between the layers of the fabric that made up reality. Of course, these weren't normal circumstances. The statuette stayed in his hand. This meant, by extension, that he would not be able to access the items he had put into his inter-reality pockets before the unfortunate events of his last few days on Asgard.

"So here's what I'm curious about," began Coulson, leaning forwards and folding his hands on the table. "Half an hour ago, you nearly strangled a young woman to death without touching her. If I didn't know better, I'd say that it looked quite a bit like magic."

"You're right," replied the Asgardian. Coulson leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting more information. Had he been younger, Loki would have rolled his eyes and refused to speak further. Now he knew better, and there was nothing to be gained by stubborn silence. "It _was _magic," the prisoner elaborated. "But not mine."

Coulson took this in stride, and even seemed genuinely curious as he asked "If it wasn't your magic, then whose?"

Loki pointed at the plant. The agent sitting across from him frowned, perhaps thinking that some kind of joke was being played on him.

"You don't have to believe me," said the Asgardian as Coulson stood up. "But it's best if you do. There is old power at work here. Very old and very, very angry." The agent didn't reply. He picked up the handcuffs in their plastic bag and paused in his departure only long enough to accept Darcy's glasses as Loki held them up silently. Then he left the room, tucking bag and spectacles into his jacket.

Loki anticipated the buzzer this time, and it didn't make him cringe like it used to. It was a shame that they had managed to contain him long enough for him to get used to that sound. Not that he had tried actively to escape, though. Where could he possibly go? Not home, if he was even still allowed to call Asgard that.

Scooting his chair as far back as it would go, Loki yanked his foot towards him. The metal ring of the handcuff pressed against the outside of his leather boot, creasing it. His footwear was soft and well-worn, good for sneaking but bad for quick escapes. He might have been able to slip his foot free and make a run for it but, alas, the leather was pliable enough for the manacle to squeeze tight around his leg.

With an angry sigh, the captive ran a hand through his hair and found to his disgust that it was filthy. How long had it been since he had bathed properly? At least three days, not counting the time it had taken him to fall from his world to this one. His clothes were dirty, too, and on top of all that he had lost his favorite cape somewhere.

As Loki moved to scoot his chair back in, he spotted something lying on the floor. He set the metal cat on the table with a soft _clink_, and then leaned down to look at the object he had seen.

It was a book, bound in dark orange with a complex gold design on the front. There was no title on the cover, interestingly enough. Loki took it and sat back up so he could examine the thing properly. Turning it sideways, the captive read the words that were stamped in gold on the spine. _The Age of Fable,_ proclaimed the fancy lettering. Loki realized that it was the same book he had seen in Darcy's hands the first time she had peered at him through the false window.

Turning the book face-up once more, the prisoner flipped it open to the bookmark and began to read.


End file.
